


some scenes in which dean and cas accidentally get together and no one’s dead

by mishcollin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack, M/M, is this crack??? idk it's mostly just dumb but i had a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin/pseuds/mishcollin
Summary: Dean and Cas accidentally get together and no one's dead.





	some scenes in which dean and cas accidentally get together and no one’s dead

**Author's Note:**

> [logic voice] ok i was gone for a minute but im back now!!!! not really, cracky and dumb. haven't actually uhhh seen s12 but tried to pepper in some canon-familiar moments. cas isn't dead bc fuck that! :^)

****_(Open scene.)_ The first time is entirely an accident because they’re fighting after a hunt, heated words flowing back and forth between them, fists clenched, eyebrows drawn—

“You don’t even know how _stupid_ it is, taking risks like that.” Dean’s voice borders on a yell, probably loud enough to wake Sam all the way down the hall.

“Oh, so you’re the only one allowed to take risks?” Cas throws back, his jaw set angrily.

“At least I’m actually, you know, _good_ at it.”

“ _We met in hell,_ ” Cas says, incredulous.

“Oh, nice, play the hell card again.”

“I’m not playing any cards, simply pointing out an extremely obvious fallacy in your argument.” They’re extremely close now, close enough that Dean can feel the righteous warmth pouring off Cas in waves, close enough to be hyperfixated on the harsh curve of Cas’ mouth.

“ _Obvious fallacy in your argument,_ ” Dean mimics in lieu of a comeback. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

And then, it just kinda—Cas’ body is on his, or maybe it’s the other way around, their teeth clicking together in the aggression of the kiss, and Dean snaps back at once in shock before Cas reels him back in and he–he—he can’t say no, he’s already unbuttoning Cas’ dress shirt, for Christ’s sake, he’s already pulling him in closer.

“What are we—” Dean says in a wild kind of voice, and Cas says against his mouth, a hot gravel thrum, “Stop talking,” so he does. Cas’ fingers are already working at his belt, Dean’s on his too, their mouths connected the whole way, and Cas backs him up, pushing until the back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and they fall in. It’s like his body is on autopilot, like it knows every hard curve of Cas’ body, kissing and touching through the heat and frustration, and when it’s over, Dean’s staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, his hands clasped on his bare chest, his thoughts reeling on the same loop over and over— _Cas. Cas? Cas?? Cas???_

He tilts his jaw sideways after several moments to stare at Cas, who’s also gazing up at the ceiling but looking completely serene about it.

“That,” Dean warns, still out of breath, “was a one-time thing.”

 _(Cut scene.)_ Dean’s moaning like a porn star in the shower, go figure, Cas is on his knees and Dean’s got one hand tangled in his dark wet hair, and he’s using the other to bite his fist against the stream of noises and curses spilling out of him. Cas’ thumbs are pressed into Dean’s thighs, whitening the skin.

“ _God,_ ” Dean says through heaving breaths. “Oh, God.”

“Please,” Cas says in a pained voice, muffled around his dick.

“Sorry, Jesus.”

“I said please.”

Dean lasts for about three more seconds with Cas sucking him off like that, and he stands there jelly-jointed while Cas kisses his way up the length of his thighs, his torso, his chest, his neck.

“We need to stop this,” Dean says, his eyes closed, his heartbeat still sprinting and his body warm to every pore. “What—what are we even doing.”

He can feel how close Cas is, all tall thick six feet of him, taut and wet and heat and muscle and—

“I can go,” Cas says. Dean opens his eyes, and Cas is standing there getting drenched by shower water, staring at him, wet hair in his eyes, jaw stubbled, pink lips kiss-swollen dark, and good Lord.

“God damn it,” Dean says, and cups a hand to the back of his neck, pulls him in for a kiss. Cas eagerly reciprocates, closing the rest of the space between them, and Dean hitches a shower-slick leg around Cas’ hip, which Cas quickly grabs in a firm grip.

“Wait, wait,” Dean says, attempting to pull away, shutting his eyes again. “I mean, seriously, think about it—what are we—you’re not—”

Cas sighs, drifting back a couple inches.

“Wait, one more,” Dean says, leaning in to kiss him again. “Fuck. Last one. Why are you so good at this? What the fuck.”

Cas loses his patience and hefts Dean up by both thighs, crowding them into the shower wall, and sweet baby Jesus, Dean thinks, he’s only human.

 _(Cut scene.)_ They’re fighting (again) in the bunker hallway.

“—self-martyred acrobatics,” Cas is saying.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Dean retorts. Director’s note that the conversation on the whole should probably, out of context, be about something important but is in context actually about Dean’s passive-aggressiveness surrounding Cas dumping Dean’s wet laundry on the floor to run his own load.

“You’re insufferable,” Cas growls, and promptly drags Dean in by the neck of his henley to stumble into the nearest storage closet. The kissing is good, it’s always good, tragically, but Dean indignantly bites Cas’ mouth so he’ll back off, still pissed about the martyr comment.

“You can’t win every argument like this,” Dean says, breath hitched, embarrassingly winded as Cas presses kisses to his jaw.

“Yes, I can,” Cas responds steadily, then bites his ear.

“Okay, we are not doing this,” Dean hisses as Cas sucks a bruising hickey—a _hickey?!_ —on his collarbone. Dean’s hands find Cas’ broad hips nonetheless, resolve weakening by the millisecond. “I mean, th-this isn’t junior high, Cas, Jesus Christ.”

Cas pulls away, the heat between them instantly retracting.

“Well, why don’t you let me know,” Cas says, acidic, “when you figure out what exactly it is you want to do with me.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Dean says, but Cas swings open the closet door and barrels out—directly into Sam, naturally, who’s got his nose buried in a book.

“Uh,” Sam says. Dean scrambles backward to hide. “Hey, Cas…? What’s, uh…”

“Dean’s in the closet,” Cas says, just to be a bitch.

“Eat me,” Dean suggests from the darkness of the closet.

Cas stalks off without looking back at him. Dean, furious, glares at the self-righteous shape of his ass as he leaves.

Sam cranes his neck giraffe-like to stare at him. “Uh…what are you…”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean snaps, and storms past him.

Cut scene. They’re in the car, Cas riding shotgun and Sam crowded into the backseat tapping away on his laptop, both headphones in as he pores through research for their newest case. Dean’s bobbing his head to Black Sabbath, trying not to look at Cas or feel how close he is, or remember anything about what he looks like naked. He can feel Cas attempting not to look at him. The closet incident had resulted in a small Cold War between them, the only white flag a piece of bad toast Cas had offered him this morning.

Next thing he knows, Cas sighs, like he’s resigning himself to something, then reaches out a hand to clasp around Dean’s kneecap, squeezing gently. Dean jerks at the contact, startled by the tenderness, and the car briefly swerves. A quick, panicked look to the rearview reveals Sam dozing against the back window, his mouth ajar.

“Wh—what are you doing,” Dean says, his voice choked.

Cas’ hand retracts.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Cas says, his tone glacial, and great—Dean’s pissed him off again. Or maybe hurt his feelings, the two seem to cross wires with Cas.

“It’s just—Sam,” Dean manages to say, which is a shitty excuse and he knows it. His knee feels like a furnace, heat creeping up his thigh.

More cool silence. Dean thinks that’s that, until Cas, without even looking in his direction, reaches out one finger and changes the song mid-chorus.

Dean’s mouth falls open, and his eyes leave the road to stare at him in disbelief. “You did not.”

Cas cocks his jaw and stares moodily out the front window.

“You’re such a baby.”

“ _I’m_ the baby?” Cas’ voice pitches up incredulously; Dean’s still not quite used to the range in his inflection.

“Look, I get that a million years in God squad may have, you know, stunted your growth—”

“Thirty-six years _on_ earth doesn’t seem to have done you any good in that regard.”

“Why don’t you do me a favor, Cas,” Dean says, calmly, “and blow me.”

“I’ve been _trying,_ ” Cas snaps. From the backseat, Sam removes a single earbud.

 _(Cut scene.)_ Dean and Sam are at a drive-through fast food joint later that afternoon in Laramie, Wyoming while Cas waits back at the motel, claiming to “do research” while Dean suspects he’s actually sulking.

“Go ahead and order when you’re ready,” the cashier says through the intercom, sounding like he’d rather be dead.

“I know what you want,” Sam says to Dean, leaning out the driver’s window. “For Cas, maybe just a burger with everything on it?”

“Nah,” Dean disagrees, clicking through the pages upon pages of Sam’s research. “Dude resents ketchup. Plus onions hurt his stomach.”

It takes Dean a moment more to realize a silence has fallen over the car, and when he quickly looks up, Sam’s staring at him, his mouth curved up and his eyes gleeful in the terrifying way that siblings do.

“Oh, what?” Dean snaps, already bristling.

“Nothing, it’s just.” Sam attempts to knock off the shit-eating grin, very poorly. His lips purse. “Do…do pickles make him gassy too?”

Dean can’t do anything to that but curve his lips in a downward U and narrow his eyes in an attempt to mock Sam’s expression, unable to say anything defensible. Sam laughs for the rest of the drive.

 _(Final scene.)_ They’ve just finished the hunt, a vampire coven in Cheyenne—at least Dean has for his part, and he’s trying very much to ignore the pain of a broken arm as he hobbles around looking for Sam and Cas, the selfsame arm covered in a sheen of blood both his and monster’s. He cradles it to his chest like a broken wing as he heads for the exit, designated by a sign with its lights out, before a huge boom sends him reeling back; it takes him a moment of coughing and blinking to realize the door’s been blown completely off its hinges, smoking on the cement floor. He barely has a moment to get past the giant question mark in his mind before Cas strides through the cleared opening knife drawn, blood-flecked; he freezes when he sees Dean and the hard warrior expression immediately cracks.

“Thank God,” Cas says, his voice shaken, and before Dean can even think about it, Cas crosses to him and kisses him hard. The worst part, the most terrifying part is that it takes Dean a second to realize it; he’s already leaned back in to reciprocate it with his hurt arm tucked in, relieved to see him untouched and intact, before he starts at his own reaction, at the familiar intimacy that had just transpired between them.

“Are you hurt?” Cas demands, pulling back, looking not even a fraction as rattled as Dean is.

“Uh—” Dean says, the pain in his arm entirely forgotten.

Cas’ eyes rake over him then pause on his arm, and before Dean can protest, he’s reached out and gently laid a hand along the inside of Dean’s forearm. Dean sucks in a quick breath at the sting, the soft crack of the bone self-repairing, before the ordeal is over; he flexes his hand, the pain receding.

Dean stares at Cas, something warm and thick and sweet like honey rising in his throat. Cas stares back, gaze soft, taking him in.

“Should we go?” Cas asks, after another moment like this. “Sam will be looking for us.”

Dean swallows, then nods. Reaches back to touch Cas, where his hand is still resting on him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
